I'm really not all about me.

I mean, I think of others. I consider feelings other than my own. My whole job, in fact, revolves around taking on the worst of what happens to others and shouldering that burden of seeking justice on their behalf. I *don't* just barge through life worried about number one. Really, I don't.

But just try to tell my husband that. Oh, no. You try to protect yourself one little time, and suddenly you're all about throwing everybody else under the bus, into the line of fire. I say, you can't blame me. I blame my job. It gets in your head, always making you think the worst.

Case in point - last weekend. My husband and his friend do a little call in radio show on Friday nights. We live in South Georgia, and football isn't big here. It's everything. They spend six hours every Friday night talking about high school football. Hundreds of people call in to pontificiate. It's kind of a thing.

First, from 6 p.m. until the games start, they talk about what games are going to be played that night. People call in, make predictions, talk about the various permutations of what could happen that night and the playoff implications.During the games, people call in to give score updates, describe what's happening at whatever game they are at. They also have a report on Georgia Bulldog football that they do during that time. Then after the game until midnight, people call in and talk about the games played that night, the playoff implications, and who is playing who next week.

I like to say they talk about what's going to happen, then they talk about what's happening, then they recap what just happened. For six hours.

Rather than stay home alone, sometimes I like to go with them to the city they broadcast from and spend a little me time while they're doing the show. I have dinner alone, go the bookstore, and usually see a movie. I pitched an idea where I would see a different chick flick every Friday night, review it on the show, and maybe the movie theater would give a free pass in exchange for the publicity. The boys thought it was better to stick to football. Whatever.

So last Friday, I tagged along as usual. The boys like to go eat before the show, so I accompanied them to their favorite chinese restaurant. They love this place - it's cheap, the portions are HUGE, and the staff knows them by name. I love it because it is spic and span clean every time we go in there.

We got to the place just after their 5 p.m. opening, walked in the door expecting to hear our normal shouted greeting. Nothing. There was nobody there. No customers, no staff, no cashier, nothing. We wait, and wait, but......nothing. B and his buddy start walking back toward the kitchen area, when they look around for me, and I'm.....well, I've got one hand on the door, ready to make a run for it.

Maybe I'm too into my job, maybe I've seen one too many movies, but for that few seconds I had no doubt in my mind what was going on. The nice Asian man who usually greets us and his cheery wife were in the office, hands on heads, on their knees, and gunmen were cleaning out the place. I was absolutely sure the place was getting robbed. So when B and his pal asked me what the heck I was doing, I didn't filter. I told them straight out - "if this place is getting knocked over, I"m getting the f#$% out!"

Of course, thankfully, the staff was just in the kitchen, prepping for a busy night. B and his friend are still laughing at me.

But I still maintain it was a logical conclusion.